


Lilt of the Lute

by tav1sh



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: F/F, Female Bard
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-22
Updated: 2014-03-22
Packaged: 2018-01-16 15:12:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1352014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tav1sh/pseuds/tav1sh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shaarda knew nothing of her past other than the harsh treatment rewarded to her by Grelod the Kind. But while the days brought misfortune and misery, with the nights came her music swelling in the air of Riften. </p>
<p>The story of a Redguard bard who came from the orphanage of Riften.<br/>OC/Fem! Dragonborn</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lilt of the Lute

**Author's Note:**

> hell yea more skyrim stuff   
> no guarantees about this being finished/continued

All she could think of was 'Where had she gone?' Standing in the doorway of the Bee and Barb was a little girl, clutching a small flute. She was dark-skinned with a head of thick, black hair, the ends sitting on her shoulder.

She frowned, looking at the different people seated around the pub. Keerava was pouring a strong-smelling drink into a flagon and Mister Brynjolf was chatting it up with some other men clad in loud clanking armor. The usual nightly assortment of people were there, with the usual extra few travelers from outside. But Miss Bard wasn't there.

"Not here, I'm afraid." Keerava's voice made it to the girl through the chatter. The young Reguard looked over to the barkeeper and made her way there, pocketing the flute and climbing up onto a chair with little difficulty. Even sitting on the stool, her chin barely cleared the counter top.

"Where is Miss Bard?" She asked, cushioning her chin with her small arms. Somewhere behind her someone whooped, droplets of a drink splattering loudly on the wooden floor. Keerava rolled her eyes before looking back down at the dark face with wide eyes.

"I'm not sure, Shaar." She replied, reaching down into a basket at the foot of the table before placing a sweet roll in front of the girl. The Argonian had something of a soft spot for her; everyone at this bar did. All of Riften's residents knew the kid would periodically sneak out of Honorhall Orphanage and come down to the Bee and Barb (most people correctly thought she had learned how to pick locks from Brynjolf).The first time she was clearly anxious and hesitant, staring at the leaping flames of the fire and muscled adventures with deadly-looking scars. But she had pulled herself together and had asked everyone, even the meanest-looking mercenary if they knew a bard or were one themselves.

There had been no one the first couple times, but on the third night she found a beautiful women clad in fur armor and boots. She seemed to be a Nord, with fair skin and long, light-colored hair. She was standing near a chair with a large flute to her mouth, coaxing out the tune to "Ragnar the Red." All the people around her seemed to be having a good time as they clapped to the beat and clanked their glass merrily.

It was only after the bard lady had finished the song before she noticed the girl poking at her lute, which was leaning against her chair. The woman raised an eyebrow, coughing a bit and startling the kid. Her eyes looked wide and hopeful.

"You're a bard!" She squeaked. It was an adorable gesture that softened the temper of every person in the tavern.

The bard, who had been to Riften only once before, introduced herself to the girl.  The Redguard returned the favor, naming herself as 'Shaarda.' However, in her mind, the Nordic woman remained 'Miss Bard.' It was name only the kid call her. All the others knew her as Kathilde, the woman with a deep and beautiful voice.

 Shaarda left the tavern that night with a flute of her own, though it was small. She could easily hide it in the folds of her dress, although she would have to be careful around the orphanage headmistress, Grelod the Kind.

 Over the course of many years, Shaarda would quietly sneak out of the orphanage, after the luck of having a chance meeting with Brynjolf who taught her the simplest of lock picking. It was during the time Grelod had to go out and purchase some new shackles. Constance Michel had taken them all out for some fresh air, and Shaarda had wandered off from the group. All of Riften knew the horrors of Honorhall Orphanage, and Brynjolf was no exception.

Now that Shaarda was capable of simple escapes (although she always returned), she sought the bard everyday. Soon she gained a vague understanding of Miss Bard's visits. Every Fredas she would find the woman bringing music to the Bee and Barb, with the lute, flute and even drums. And Shaarda learned. The five year old (she assumed that was her age) grew to six, and then to seven. The common bard songs were already committed to memory, and she was coming along well in her playing of the flute.

But now it was Fredas again and Miss Bard was nowhere to be found. Shaarda thanked Keerava for the sweet roll and broke off a piece, sticking the crumbly pastry bit into her mouth. It was of course delicious, but the girl couldn't really find it within herself to actually notice its taste. She ate a bit more because she didn't want to be rude and then gave a small chunk to the Argonian, who chuckled a bit before taking it.

When half of the roll was gone, Shaarda thanked the barmaid, brushing crumbs off her clothes.

"Why don't you play in her place?" Keerava suggested. Shaarda blinked in surprise.

"Me?" She pointed to herself, as if she wasn't quite sure what she had just been asked. Keerava nodded. The girl pulled out her flute again, staring down at it. She had always wanted to a bard, providing music for the weary travelers and tired merchants who sought it. Shaarda glanced behind her, looking around before placing her hands on the edges of the stool. Keerava reached over to steady the chair, and Shaarda murmured a thanks. She climbed to her feet, now standing slightly taller than the scaly barkeeper.

Her palms were getting sweaty, but she knew this was her chance to finally do what a bard does. Only Mjoll the Lioness had noticed, and she could see a smile tugging at her lips. Shaarda grinned back, a tiny, anxious one before raising the flute to her lips.

She gave a small test puff of breath, and a quiet, clear sound made its way out of the flute. This calmed Shaarda's nerves a bit. She took a breath, and began to play.

At first the notes were short, broken and quiet. But at Keerava's encouraging, soft pat on the back, confidence began to swell through her veins. Shaarda's tune became louder, the music beginning to move smoothly as the notes connected to each other. She didn't dare open her eyes, but she could hear the voices in the room fall quiet as her flute took their place.

Then a pair of hands came together to clap, and another, and another. She could hear the people clapping in time, the fire crackling and the sloshing of drinks. It was such a warm atmosphere, and she filled it even more.

When the thin instrument came down from her lips, Shaarda's cheeks were pink and her eyes were open. At first only a few people began to applaud her, and then it spread, all of the bodies coming to their feet to cheer.

She didn't notice the figure standing the doorway, a feminine form leaning against the side.

All through the night the little Redguard girl played her flute, spreading the music through the air. And this, she mused, was what it must be like to be a bard.


End file.
